"Lord Fairfax is your father's age."
"Granted, but it's a flattering sentiment." At his harrumph, she continued, "Oh, my. The Marquess of Jonesborough requests I join him for a ride in his phaeton this afternoon; only he fears that my beauty
will
blind his horses." The end of the sentence was
swallowed
by Alex's own disbelieving giggle.
"Surely he can't think I would take that seriously."
"Considering how seriously Jonesborough takes himself, I can't imagine how he would think otherwise."
Shuffling through several more cards quickly, Alex
rolled
her eyes to the ceiling and groaned, "
What am I going to do? I actuall
y must go riding with one of these dolts!" Leveling him with a glance, she queried with a sparkle in her eye, "You don't write such tripe to the women you hope to interest, do you?"
"I should hope not," he responded indignantly. "Good God, I have much more originality. These men clearly aren't thinking about how best they can interest you."
"What does that mean?"
"Quite simply, you're not the type to be wooed with poetry or false compliments."
"I'm not?" Now she was interested. "But I like poetry."
His reply brooked no rebuttal. "No, you don't. Not like this. They haven't got it right at
all
."
"Enlighten me, Lord Blackmoor, how should I be
wooed,
as you put it? I am intrigued by your obvious expertise."
He was quick to respond, "You're too vibrant for them. Too strong. You have a sharp mind and an exciting personality and an unexpected sense of humor. If these men were half the man you deserve, they would have already recognized
all
those things and they would be romancing you accordingly.
They would be working to intrigue and amuse and inspire you
—
just as you do them. And they would know that only when they have won your mind
will
they even have a chance at winning your heart."
The room felt much warmer
all
of a sudden, and Alex resisted the urge to fan herself, trying to ignore the rapid increase in her pulse as color flooded her cheeks. In the silence
that
followed
his impassioned speech, Gavin stood and walked over to her. A cocky grin spread across his face. "That's how I write to the women I hope to interest, Alex."
She attempted a cool response. "Perhaps ..." Her voice caught and she cleared her throat, beginning anew. "Perhaps you should consider holding classes. I am acquainted with quite a few men who could do with some training. More than forty of them, it seems. Lord save me."
He chuckled as he removed the pile of
calling
cards from her hand and set them on a nearby table. Offering her a hand, he
pulled
her up to stand in front of him. "There's only one way to save you from them today."
"Oh?" The single
syllable
was
all
she could manage. Had he always been this broad? This
tall
? Had his eyes always been such a dark, smoky grey?
"Come riding with me."
Alex sat
tall
in the high, two-seated carriage, one hand keeping her bonnet from flying off as the fleet-footed team of horses trotted down Park Lane toward Hyde Park. She smiled up at Blackmoor from underneath the wide-brimmed hat, green eyes flashing. "I certainly prefer riding with you, my lord."
"I thought you might."
"May I drive?"
"You think I'd consider handing over the reins of this remarkable equipage?" He replied with feigned superiority. For generations, the Earls of Blackmoor had prided themselves on having the most current and impressive modes of transportation. The most recent earl was no different, and the brand-new curricle in which they were riding was certain to be the envy of many.
"Indeed. I think you'd enjoy the experience of teaching me how."
"I've had this curricle for less than a week, Alex. You're not driving."
Alex replied with a comic pout, "I
shall
convince you otherwise, my lord. I warn you."
"Indeed?
well
you are welcome to try, my lady."
He flashed a broad grin at her and
called
to his team as they turned into the park, offering a quick "Hold on!" to Alex. The carriage tilted slightly, and she grabbed the seat beneath her, yelping as they slowed to a crawl, waiting to take a place in the mass of people walking and riding along the Serpentine that afternoon. Turning a lazy smile on her, he inquired, "A
l
l right?"
"Fine, now that I'm not in danger of toppling out of the curricle!" She cast him a sidelong glance and caught his snicker. "You meant to terrify me!"
"Never!" he defended himself, the portrait of innocence. "I suggested you hold on, did I not?"
Exasperated, she
rolled
her eyes, turning to look around them. The ride along Rotten Row in Hyde Park at this,
the fashionable hour,
was one of the most revered traditions in London aristocracy. It was a chance to see and be seen, to display one's position in society, and, more than anything else, to witness
—
and perpetuate
—
the latest gossip of the
ton.
The path was packed with members of the
beau monde,
in open-air carriages, on horseback, walking along the sandy path, men with their walking sticks, women with their silk bonnets and pale linen parasols. Alex smiled brightly at the Countess of Shrewsbury, as the older woman tipped her head and reached out a hand to greet her.
"Lady Alexandra, Lord Blackmoor," the countess said politely as Blackmoor tipped his hat. "'Tis a fine afternoon for a ride, is it not?"
"Oh, indeed, my lady," Alex replied, "and such a pleasure to find you here!" She lowered her voice, adding in a near-whisper, "I wasn't sure what I would discover!"
The countess, ever the portrait of propriety, replied with
all
decorum, "I'm certain Blackmoor
will
protect you from anything overly unusual, my dear."
Alex looked at her companion and tilted her head, pretending to consider the statement before turning back to the countess. "I suppose he
’ll
have to do."
The cheek of the statement in such a public locale surprised the older woman, who met Blackmoor's laughing eyes and shook her head slightly and spoke with disdain, "Young people ... so different from the way we were in my day."
Alex immediately dipped her head in chagrin. "I beg your pardon, my lady."
The countess nodded curtly in
farewell
to both of them and moved off to greet the next acquaintance she found on the path, leaving Alex to turn a concerned look on Blackmoor.
«Well,
that came off rather poorly, it seems."
Blackmoor tried to hide his humor, somewhat unsuccessful
l
y. "You shouldn't
allow
her opinion to dictate your behavior."
Alex winced. "Lady Shrewsbury is not incorrect. I should endeavor to be more ladylike and less ...
well
... not. More like her."
"Lady Shrewsbury"
—
he said the name as if he had just received a whiff of a not altogether pleasant scent
—
"has always been the portrait of stiffness and staidness. You should endeavor to be nothing like her."
"Her opinion about my ... candor ... is shared by many of our parents' set."
"Nonsense," he said, tipping his hat to the Marquess of Houghton, who was riding alongside the eldest daughter of Viscount Grosvenor. "Your candidness is charming and not at
all
off-putting. Our parents' friends adore you. You are ... lively."
"Lively." Alex tested the word on her tongue. "That makes me sound like an unpredictable racing horse." A broad grin spread across Blackmoor's face and Alex resisted the urge to hit him. That
would
have been unpredictable. "Do you think me horselike, my lord?"
Realizing the threat to his personage, Blackmoor wiped the smile from his face and replied, "Not at
all
. I said I think you charming."
"A fine start."
"And I appreciate your exuberance." His eyes glittered with barely contained laughter.
"Like that of a child." Hers sparkled with irritation.
"And, of course, you are entertaining."
"Excell
ent. Like the aforementioned child's toy."
He couldn't hide a chuckle. "Not at
all
. You are a far better companion than any of the toys I had as a child."
"Oh, I am most flattered."
"You should be. I had some tremendous toys."
Eyes wide, she turned on him, catching his laughing gaze. "Oh! You are incorrigible! Between you and my brothers, it's no wonder I can't manage to be more of a delicate flower!"
Blackmoor stopped in the midst of acknowledging the Viscountess of Hawksmore, who, accompanied by her enormous black poodle, walked past. He turned back to Alex and answered with one eyebrow raised, "I beg your pardon? A delicate flower?"
Alex sat back in the curricle, quoting in a singsong voice,
"A young lady should be as a delicate flower; a fragile bud, with care, will blossom by the
hour."
Blackmoor's eyes widened. "Where on earth did you hear that rubbish?"
"My governess."
"I do not traditionall
y speak
ill
of women, but your governess is a cabbagehead." Alex laughed as Blackmoor continued in horror, "What a ridiculous sentiment. No one could
actually
take it seriously. It
rhymes,
for goodness sake."
She leaned out to take the hand of Lady Redding, greeting her as she rode past on a magnificent grey. Turning back to Blackmoor, she said, "Of course, it rhymes. It's supposed to be easily remembered."
"It should be forgotten. Promptly."
"Oh, and I imagine you're going to
tell
me that it is incorrect? That men don't want wives whom they can mold into the bloom of their choice? That we are not merely bulbs to be gardened by our husbands?"
"The flower metaphor is insulting in any number of ways. Primarily to our
intelligence
. I beg you to cease using it."
"Fine. But the point remains. Men refuse to consider the possibility that women have their own opinions, their own character. And women ...
well
, we are as much to blame. We
allow
you to believe that we simply wait to b
e guided by your superior intell
ect and sense of right. You saw the letters I received this morning, Blackmoor. They want me because I am rich. Or perhaps because I am young. Or attractive enough. But do you truly believe that those men
will
continue to court me when they see that I joke and tease with my brothers? When they find that I am far more at home in the stables than in the sewing room? When they discover that I read the newspaper and enjoy discussing politics?"
"I think that if they don't want
all
those things, you're better off without them."
Alex
rolled
her eyes. "That's not the issue. I'm better off without the lot of you. Perhaps I would consider being married to someone who didn't mind
all
my 'unladylike' qualities ... but I'm safe from the institution either way. The fact is, no man wants a woman who is his
intellectual
equal."
"Your generalizations wound me," he said wryly as he tipped his hat to the Duke of Nottingham, who raised his walking stick in response.
"They shouldn't. You can't be expected to feel differently from the rest of your sex."
"I most certainly feel differently." Alex snorted in disbelief. "You do not think me honest?"
"I think you believe that you are being honest. It's simply that I saw you last night."
"Last night?"
"Indeed. Penelope Grayson captured your interest. You've admitted as much. And I can only imagine she did it by being a delicate flower. Because I have serious doubts about her being your
intellectual
equal."
The words came flooding out of her mouth before she had thought about just how insulting they would be, to both Penelope and to Gavin. Feeling color flood her cheeks, she bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to escape from the mess she had so effortlessly created. Instead, she sat quietly, waiti
ng for him to speak, periodicall
y lifting one gloved hand in greeting to one of the hundreds of people who seemed, suddenly, to be crowding around them.
It
really
wasn't her business, how Blackmoor felt about Penelope.
So why did the idea that he enjoyed her company bother her so very much?
She pushed the niggling voice to the back of her mind and tried to convince herself that her outburst was only borne of concerned friendship. After
all
, she didn't want Blackmoor making a decision he could very
well
regret.
She was his friend. She was concerned. Hence, concerned friendship.
She wished he would say something.
The statement had been offensive, certainly.
well
, more toward Penelope than to Blackmoor. She hadn't questioned
his
intelligence
.
No, I simply
questioned the intelligence of the woman he was courting.
She started at the thought. He wasn't
courting
her, was he? He couldn't be. If he were, he wouldn't have had the time to take Alex riding today. He certainly wouldn't have taken her here, to Rotten Row, where they were certain to be seen by anyone and everyone. Of course, no one here would
actually
believe that she and Blackmoor were a couple. She didn't even have a chaperone with her, for goodness sake. It was clear that they were more like siblings than anything else.
all
the more reason for her to have expressed her distaste for Penelope.
Quite.
She'd done the right thing. Even if it smarted a bit.
How was it that men could remain
so stoicall
y quiet when they wanted?
She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was focused on the traffic around them, his jaw set firmly as he wielded the reins of the pair of lovely tan geldings
pulling
along the curricle. Gone was the teasing humor that had characterized their afternoon. He was not happy, this much was clear.
What remained to be seen was just how unhappy he was.
The silence was chipping away at her sanity. Truly.
And then, just when she thought he would never speak, he did.
"You do Penelope a discredit."
Of
all
the things he could have said, this was not the one she had wanted to hear. Guilt began to gnaw at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"You have not witnessed my interactions with Penelope.
You have no grasp of her intell
ect and no understanding of our conversations. Have you?"
"I
—
" He held up a hand to stop her from speaking.
"Nay, Alexandra. No excuses. Have you any understanding of my relationship with Penelope?"
"No."
"Indeed. You have judged it
—
and her, I might add
—
wrongly. Were she here, you would owe her an apology."
Alex flushed, embarrassed, and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes in response to his scolding. He was impassioned and
filled
with intense affront
— all
for Penelope's honor. She had no doubt that, were she anyone else, he would have delivered a scathing set-down. Instead, his tone revealed not anger with her opinions but disappointment in her voicing them.
all
at once, she was aware of his position, not as her friend but as a
well
-